Now there was nothing more to do until her father came, and she sat down by the kitchen table to wait.
Outside the sunlight was becoming warm and vivid. There had been no frost after all -- or, at most, merely a white trace in the shadow -- on a fallen plank here and there -- but not enough to freeze the ground. And, in the sunshine, it all quickly turned to dew, and glittered and sparkled in a million hues and tints like gems -- like that handful of jewels she had poured into her father's joined palms -- yesterday -- there at the ghostly edge of Drowned Valley.
At the memory, and quite mechanically, she turned in her char and drew Quintana's basket pack toward her.
First she lifted out his rifle, examined it, set it against the window sill. Then, one by one, she drew out two pistols, loaded; the murderous Spanish clasp-knife; an axe; a fry-pan and a tin pail, and the rolled-up mackinaw.
Under these the pack seemed to contain nothing except food and ammunition; staples in sacks and a few cans -- lard, salt, tea -- such things.
The cartridge boxes she piled up on the table; the food she tossed into a tin swill bucket.
About the effects of this man it seemed to her as though something unclean lingered. She could scarcely bear to handle them, -- threw them from her with disgust.
The garment, also -- the heavy brown and green mackinaw -- she disliked to touch. to throw it out doors was her intention; but, as she lifted the coat, it unrolled and some things fell form the pockets to the kitchen table, -- money, keys, a watch, a flat leather case---She looked stupidly at the case. It had a coat of arms emblazoned on it.
Still, stupidly and as though dazed, she laid one hand on it, drew it to her, opened it.
The Flaming Jewel blazed in her face amid a heap of glittering gems.
Still she seemed slow to comprehend -- as though understanding were paralysed.
It was when her eyes fell upon the watch that her heart seemed to stop. Suddenly her stunned senses were lighted as by an infernal flare. ... Under the awful blow she swayed upright to her feet, sick with fright, her eyes fixed on her father's watch.
It was still ticking.
She did not know whether she cried out in anguish or was dumb under it. The house seemed to reel around her; under foot too.
When she came to her senses she found herself outside the house, running with her rifle, already entering the woods. But, inside the barrier of trees, something blocked her way, stopped her, -- a man -- her man!